Flying Dreams and Coffee
by Pipkin Sweetgrass
Summary: NO SLASH! Complete At the beginning of the journey, a Man and a Hobbit find they aren't so different after all.


Flying Dreams and Coffee

Flying Dreams

"Wake up, Pippin."

Pippin stirred a little.

"Pippin! Wake up, it's your watch."

Pippin warily opened one eye. It was Strider. He rolled over, saying, "Wake me when the bath-water is hot." He grinned to himself, waiting for Strider to strip the blanket off him. He wasn't disappointed. He sat up and watched as Strider then went to wake Boromir. Goodness knows what got into Strider and Gandalf sometimes, wanting double-watches in Hollin. There seemed to be nothing at all stirring, but at least with company, it wouldn't be so boring.

Boromir rose, instantly alert. It always amazed Pippin that he could do this. Did Men never sleep late? He wondered if he would ever understand them. They seemed so…different.

Boromir got himself a cup of coffee, turned to look at the shivering hobbit, then poured a second cup and took it to Pippin.

"Oh, thank you ever so much." The hobbit said as he took the steaming cup in his cold hands. Boromir just smiled a silent "you're welcome," and sat beside the young hobbit. Strider rolled up in his blanket and tried to sleep, but could find no rest. Not because he was worried, but because the two watchers were having a bit of conversation. His curiosity about what they might talk about wouldn't let him sleep.

"So, Master Halfling, what do you think of our journey, so far?" Boromir asked.

Pippin scrunched up his face. "Well, it isn't exactly a lark, now, is it? Still, I shall make the most of it. I promised to go with Frodo, and I shall stick to my word."

"You care much about your family, do you not? I do understand. I have family, too."

There was a bit of silence. Strider opened one eye. He noticed Pippin had turned to face Boromir and now wore an expectant look on his face. It was plain the hobbit was waiting for Boromir to elaborate. When he didn't, Pippin prodded.

"Is that all you are going to say about it, then? I rather thought you would say something more."

Boromir chuckled. "All right, I'll tell you about mine, if you'll tell me about yours."

"Oh, shall I go first, then?" Pippin offered, and Strider grinned to himself. He thought, _You asked for it, Boromir._

"Well, there are my parents, firstly. My father is Paladin, and my mother Eglantine. She was a Banks." Pippin started, pausing for a sip of the steaming coffee, he warmed to the task of discussing his family.

"Then there is my Sister Pearl. She's the oldest. She's very smart, and very close to Mother. She's grown, now, and has married. She has little ones of her own, now. Then there is Pimpernel. She's very pretty, and likes to read, but she thinks she knows everything." Pippin rolled his eyes and Boromor stifled a laugh at his comic face. "Actually, she does know quite a lot, it's just that she never lets you forget it." He continued, "Then there is Pervinca. She has lots of suitors, but she says all the village lads are idiots. Mother says she'll change her mind someday. She's very sweet when she wants to be. It's just that she doesn't want to be sweet, sometimes, though I suppose I haven't made it so easy, sometimes."

"So, then, you have no brothers?"

"No, but I don't need one. I have my Merry and Frodo. I think I could not have had better brothers than they are, even though I am younger than Frodo by some years. He has always been good to me, and we have always been close. He's taught Merry and me so much, and has been right there whenever we needed advice or just to be with someone, you know…"

"Sometimes just to be with someone is enough." commented Boromir, "though, to have someone to talk to, to share your troubles with and your dreams as well…"

"Do you have someone like that?"

"Yes, I do. My brother, Faramir. He is younger than I am. We're quite close. I was nine when our mother died, and he was only five. We were a great comfort to each other."

"I'm so sorry about your mother, Boromir. You were so young, too. I think it would break my heart, if my mother died."

Strider studied Boromir's face. His expression was plain. It _had _broken his heart. Pippin had reached out and patted Boromir's large shoulder, as if to soothe away bad memories. "Your brother must have been good to have around, after…" Pippin falterd.

"Oh, he was! He was a balm to my spirit. He gave me something to think about, to take care of. He was only little, you know. He used to have bad dreams, sometimes, and I would go to him, and we would talk late into the night."

"And what about you? Did you have bad dreams?"

"Sometimes, but I never told him so. I used to tell him I had dreams that I could fly, and he would think of that, and it would help him forget he had the bad dream. Sometimes he would dream of flying after I told him I had dreamed it."

"_Did_ you have flying dreams?" Pippin sounded a little excited. " I have dreams like that!"

"Well, yes, I do have dreams like that."

Strider noticed the two regarding each other. The Man who had never known hobbits and the hobbit that had known so little of Men had locked eyes, seeming to speak to each other of having common ground.

"When I was little, and I dreamed those dreams, I'd tell Father about them. Sometimes he would lie on his back, with his feet in the air, and I'd lie on his feet with my arms spread, like a bird, and he'd hold me up in the air like that."

"Wait, you mean, he'd lie down and pick you up with his feet, and let you pretend you were flying? I used to do that with Faramir." Boromir grinned at the memory. "Seems we have some of the same childhood games."

"Yes! It does! And I thought we were so different!"

"So did I."

Strider listened as the two compared other childhood games, finding some differences, but more similarities than not. It seemed that some things crossed barriers of race and culture. The two swapped stories of childhood games of slaying dragons, rescuing princesses and defeating mighty foes. There were games involving the tossing or batting of balls, tales of fishing trips and sneaking off for a swim when they were supposed to be otherwise engaged. At last Strider dropped off to sleep, listening to the two becoming familiar with each other.

When he woke, it was to the smell of sausages frying and the sound of laughter. He rose to Merry handing him a hot cup and a plate of food. Merry was grinning. He turned and looked over his shoulder. Strider followed his gaze. It seemed everyone was watching the same scene. On the ground were two empty plates and a prone Boromir, his rather large feet in the air, and a young hobbit lying atop those feet, his arms spread as if he were about to take flight. Both Man and Hobbit were grinning from ear to ear.

Sometime during the night, two strangers had become more like brothers.


End file.
